


Ruffled

by ChocolateCannibal



Series: The Lion and The Lynx [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:29:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCannibal/pseuds/ChocolateCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About Cullen and his feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruffled

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to assume the feathers are part of his coat.

The Inquisitor had an infuriating habit of sitting on Cullen’s desk inches from his quill hand, and often on important documents. Usually, if he ignored her long enough, she would stomp off in a huff which – _fine_ \- left an odd lingering ache in his chest, but also let him get back to work.

Other times, she refused to leave despite monosyllable replies and dismissive noises such as “mmm-hmm.” She had even taken to flicking his nose when his responses were especially lacking. Cullen did not mind this as much as he should.

Okay, he didn’t mind at all. One might even go as far as to say he _enjoyed_ it. But he had work to do. There was a war. She was his superior, and he too old to suffer such boyish infatuation, much less indulge it.

So, Cullen kept his gaze on the parchment in front of him. To his (secret) delight, the Inquisitor spoke first.

“What is this?”

“My coat.”

“Yes, I knew that, but what did it _used_ to be? Like some sort of… Bird? A griffon? Is it a collection of-”

“You’re mocking me.”

“-Chicken feathers? No, I’m just curious. It’s a bold choice to be sure, Commander. Very…”

 “Inquisitor.”

“ _Regal_ ,” she punctuated, lightly ruffling a few feathers, “At least, that’s one way to describe it.”

Cullen swatted her hand away and willed himself not to blush. “I’m quite busy at the moment, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Looks to me like you could use a break.”

“You always say that.”

The Commander could not – _would_ not- encourage her, though it was becoming impossible not to smile.

“And it’s always true. Besides, you haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s a family heirloom. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“I’ll pour us a couple of drinks, then.”

Well, this was a new development. Did she bring a bottle with her? How did he not notice?

“That really isn’t necessary.”

Nonetheless, Cullen found himself setting down his quill and shifting some documents to the side. He accepted the offered glass and mumbled an apology when their fingers brushed. The Inquisitor lifted an eyebrow but did not comment.

“A toast,” She raised her glass, “To all the pigeons your family murdered to make that… Thing.”

“It’s not- Maker’s breath, _fine_ \- To the pigeons. All the poor, dead pigeons, chickens, griffons, peacocks, and every other wretched feathered thing in Thedas that died to become a part of my coat.”

Now he _was_ smiling. Grinning from ear to ear, actually, for possibly the first time in years. The Commander should have been angry at her intrusion, irritated by her teasing, or at the very least embarrassed by his own sad attempt at humor. Instead, he felt weightless- downright _dizzy_ with the buzzing giddiness of being in her presence.

No, that was not right. He wouldn’t allow himself to cross that line. The drink was probably kicking in a little early.

Lara’s eyes sparkled with mirth as her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Oh, Cullen. I love how you-” she abruptly cut off, pursed her lips, and poured herself another drink.

 _Love_? He stared. Loved how he what? Couldn’t take a joke? Stumbled and stuttered like a fool whenever he saw her? How…

Cullen swallowed thickly, opened his mouth to speak, found he couldn’t think of a single damned thing to say, and took a drink instead. A few drops entered his wind pipe, causing him to clear his throat violently. All the while, the Inquisitor refused to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he thought that he wasn’t alone in this. Maybe she felt… Not _exactly_ as he did because that would be too much to ask, but something similar.

No. That was a ridiculous notion. The Inquisitor was flirtatious by nature and inspired warmth in all her followers. She made people smile, whether they wanted to or not. This – _he_ \- was nothing special, and would have to be a fool to think so.

The silence the followed lingered, thickened, then shattered with a faint _plink_ when the Inquisitor set down her glass and rose from her seat. “I’ll leave you to it, Commander.”

“What-” Cullen coughed “You’re going already?”

He should have said something, but was too busy acting like a coward and choking on his drink to, well, ‘confess’ was not the right word. There were no feelings that warranted confession. He would never _dream_ of such impropriety with his superior.  

“I thought you had work to do.” The teasing lilt was back in her voice.

“Yes, but…” Maker’s breath _Cullen_ , get a grip!

“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer.” She dusted herself off and walked to the door.

“Lara.”

Her slender fingers lingered on the doorway. For a moment, he thought she would keep walking. In that same moment, he knew he would go after her and probably say things better kept to himself and it would have been an absolute _disaster_. Thankfully, she turned around.

“Oh, you want me to stay? You could have just said so, Commander. Fine, one more drink. Three at most. No, five. I promise five is the absolute limit.”

In a blink she was back on his desk, crinkling crucial papers, smudging ink, and depressing wax seals under the weight of her shapely bum. Cullen was honestly too relieved to care.  

He held out his empty glass and she filled it to the brim. “If this bloody war doesn’t succeed in killing me, I can rest assured knowing you will,” he remarked because she _would_ be the death of him.

“Well… _If_ you die before me, may I ask for something?”

“Anything,” He blurted without thinking, then resisted the powerful urge to slap himself.

Lara stroked his feathered collar gently, wet her lips, and looked him in the eye. “Your coat.”

“Anything _but_ that.”

“Right. Family heirloom. The next best thing, then.”

“What would that be?”

“Surprise me,” she flicked his nose gently, “I’ll hold you to it.”

The next morning, he made an appointment with the Spymaster to discuss the terms of his will.

“The Inquisitor seems to like… Feathers. So in the event of my untimely death, I was wondering if it might be possible to-“

“Leave my birds out of it, Cullen. Just tell her how you feel.”

It was excellent advice, but he didn’t take it. Instead, the Commander went to ask Dorian if all of the griffons were _really_ extinct.


End file.
